


Empathy is Overrated

by Naldi



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Drug Addiction, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gay, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Poly Mulletteggy because why not, Religious Extremism (mentioned), very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:51:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naldi/pseuds/Naldi
Summary: John had never expected any of this. Not to run away from home, not him selling drugs to people in this new city, he didn't even expect to meet Alex.All these things, he didn't think they'd ever happen - yet they did, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.!WARNING, DEALS WITH SERIOUS ISSUES, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Procrastinator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Procrastinator/gifts).



> I'm not going to put trigger warnings on each chapter, this entire thing needs a massive trigger warning. Read at your own risk.

So John was a drug dealer. Not that his coworker knew that, that would have been an interesting first conversation; actually, scratch that because that would've actually been the first proper conversation he would've had with his coworker - not that Burr was a bad or boring person or anything, he just didn't really enjoy John's company for some magical reason. But yeah, John Laurens was a drug dealer who worked in a pasta shop for extra money and then sold drugs under the street name Justin whenever he wasn't doing that. 

How his job worked like that, it was hard to explain. Being a dealer wasn't the safest thing, especially when it came to a stable wage so despite being a dealer longer than a pasta shop employee, the pasta shop was his main job - even if drugs got him more money. 

The way it worked was rather simple, too: 

Usually, a regular would message him and they'd agree on a place to meet - but when that didn't happen, he usually roamed the streets and offered cheaper drugs to people who looked like they had thrown their lives away anyway. Unless they were kids, if they were kids he'd tell them to go home or to the nearest shelter - he refused to sell to kids; when they still had a shot at doing something for the world, he wasn't going to take that opportunity away. 

It was an odd job, many downsides. From aggressive customers to the police - how he had survived this long, he didn't know. 

Then there was the big upside of the job, where he'd offer his drugged up customers his drawings and such, and they'd be too high to realise at the time that they just bought ten turtle post it notes for fifteen dollars each. 

He was a great person, was he not?

It was a Tuesday, and sunny as heck so he had been forced to put on sunscreen to protect his sensitive skin. Despite being freckled, he burnt to a crisp and no matter how much clothing he attempted to wear, precautions always had to be made. Too many times in the past had he made the mistake of thinking all was okay if he just wore a hoodie. 

The man had been glumly covering his face in sunscreen while music on his phone played away in hopes of filling his apartment with some form of sound that wasn't just his breaths. He had to be at work in five minutes but procrastination was more fun than actual labour. 

Luckily for him, his phone had started ringing and only the lord knew how fast he dived towards the device to answer it. 

"Hello?" He asked, instantly regretting not looking at the called ID. This could either be Burr yelling at him for not being at work yet or a customer - either was scary. 

"Justin, hi," the voice on the other end ran through, and he let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't dead yet. "It's Thomas. So I'm running low on supplies, is there any way you can get me some for today?"

The voice was anxious, jittery, but he was trying desperately to cover that up. 

John could only scratch the back of his neck with his white fingers as he sat on the arm of the couch awkwardly. 

"I dunno, Thomas. I've got an actual job I need to be at today and I was planning on going to it. And then after the job my plan was to sleep and cry about why my life sucks, my schedule is pretty cramped."

"Well is there a way I could get them while you're at your actual job? Please? I'm desperate." He really was. 

Throwing his head back, John thought for a single moment before making his decision. 

"Alright. I'll get you the stuff but you have to get to me," he explained slowly, as he got up and walked to his kitchen, resting his arms on the counter lazily, while his free hand rummaged around the bread bin to reveal a few packets of the cheap drugs Thomas was after. 

It was a popular buy from the druggies who were indeed addicted but in no way willing to try anything stronger or more serious. John couldn't blame them for that, addictions were easy to supply and he respected the fact that while they were addicted, they would never go past just pills and weed. 

Those who bought simply the simplest drugs were going to have a more simple reformation, if that time ever came. Those who payed for much more serious things - things a little harder to obtain - were probably never going to get help unless they went to rehab and desperately wanted to be fixed. 

No matter what, addiction was a brain disease which made its victims feel helpless and hopeless - but even John knew that weed and pills were easier to stop taking, compared to something a little more serious. 

"Okay, I understand. Sorry how short notice this all is." Thomas fretted, as John - unknowing to all but himself - shoved a packet inside of his pocket and decided now was a better time than any to get out of the apartment and make his way, finally, to work. 

"Don't worry - you want, I'll get." He let out a dense laugh, as he opened the door of his apartment to leave, before walking down to the elevator a few feet away from his accommodation. Pressing the button a few times, to show his minor anxiety and stress to leave this building as quickly as possible. 

It let out a mechanical ding, one that was intended to resemble a bell but really just sounded like the beep of a microwave at this point. Inhaling deeply, he stepped inside, ignoring the clatter and chatter which was going on in the background noise of Thomas' end of the line. 

"Hey where are you?" John asked curiously, actually taking an interest in the location of Thomas.

"Oh, I'm at home." 

"You live with an awful lot of people." The southerners shared a laugh - quick and awkward - as got out of the lift and made his way through the small lobby to the exit; feeling the sun hit his face as soon as he stepped outside, he thanked the lord for reminding himself to put on suncream, before turning right to go to the car park around the back of the building. 

"Yeah, it's cheaper if we just all live tog- Alex! Get your fucking hands off of my swivel chair! You had no right to take that out of my room!" John winced at the major increase in noise, pulling his phone a great distance from his ear and still being able to hear Thomas' shouts. "I don't care if Laf said you could use it! I don't want your ass infecting it if you sit dow- don't you dare! I'm goin- look I've got to go, text me the address." 

With that, Thomas messily hung up, shouts still emitting from the device a whole minute before he finally managed to end the call. Just the loud and rash noises of screams and exclamations, maybe even a quick "try me, bitch". 

Either way, John refused to question it as he pocketed his phone and unlocked his car, before setting off as fast as he had gotten in before heading off to work. 

•

_CUCINARE E MANGIARE_  was a very small, very quaint Italian restaurant just a block away from John's home. It really would've taken him nothing to walk the distance - save the planet, be a hero - but he could do that when he didn't have drugs in his pockets. His car was a safe place: fast enough to get away from trouble and old and rusty enough to blend in with the rest of the scrap most people drove around here. 

With his other job, some of the deals he made were off the grid. The prices people would pay for some stuff... well it was safe to say the reason he had such a nice apartment was because three of his regulars had massive methamphetamine addictions and would each pay $350 for four single grams. They handed the money straight over, and often got their junkie friends to try 'Justin' out too - in the end he had about fifteen people all paying him big money for meth and in the end he was able to buy himself some nice accommodation. 

What a way to live his life. 

About half of those people stuck around, the rest disappearing and John didn't question where to. It wasn't as if he needed them in his life, and getting trapped in other people's issues was the last thing he needed. Plus, some problems meant police - police means prison, most probably. 

As John parked right outside of the small building, he got out and shoved a handful of change into the parking meter before rushing his late self inside.

The interior of  _CUCINARE E MANGIARE_  was nothing to gawk about; it was purely just a few tall isles, acting like barriers, all crammed with neatly set out pastas, Italian sauces and that sort of stuff. Why a pasta shop existed, he didn't really know - all he did know was it was better working inside here, where people were quiet and mostly always polite compared to working inside the Starbucks next door - he didn't exactly mind the coffee shop considering it was a great place to go for a quick bite to eat as well as a drink during his half an hour breaks which usually existed at one o'clock but it wasn't exactly a set time. The shop was far too unprofessional for that. 

As he entered, his eyes were blessed with the sight of rows and rows of sandy yellows and wheat browns - how he loved pasta. 

The man scrunched his nose up in distaste, as he slowly slid through the isles to reach the counter where an impatient Aaron Burr stood. "You're late." The man commented, as he kept his arms crossed but his expression stayed neutral. "Why is that?"

"Terrible, terrible traffic, see?" John pointed out the window to prove his point: the road was practically empty. "That and a friend called to catch up."

"At ten in the morning?" Burr asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

"Yes, it's never to early to catch up with distant friends." John grinned, but Burr didn't crack a smile. 

"This is the sixth time this month, John. Sooner or later I'll have to come clean to Bianchi at some point." He warned, but the southerner let out a bitter laugh in return. 

"As if she's ever in, and I swear she's always too drunk to care anyway - probably doesn't even remember she owns this place."

"Well she remembers enough to know that she has to send us almost three hundred bucks every week." 

"Yes, however she's too drunk to realise that that's much too much money for two people who basically just box and unbox pasta as well as working a counter." John grinned at his final statement, finally proving to Burr that the owner of this god forsaken shop was both too stupid to realise she owned the place but also didn't realise that eleven dollars was a little too much money to be charging per hour. But somehow the place got decent business so as long as Bianchi didn't realise that she was paying them each eleven dollars an hour for minimal labour. 

But thinking back on it, she didn't need reminding that that was far too much. John chuckled shallowly, the sole thought of Jo Bianchi made his soul go bitter. The woman was a skinny alcoholic who could barely see straight. She was downright cruel to her employees - or at least she was when she was sober enough to remember she had to come in. 

The one thing Burr and Laurens had in common - or at least something John could justify - was their equal and sour hatred for the woman. Despite this, however, neither made a move to quit the job. 

Even though their boss was a self-loving bitch with no moral compass, the pay was excellent; well, not excellently excellent, but they got over ten thousand a year to literally do nothing. 

Both weren't willing to give that up. 

Another similarity between Burr and John - something John couldn't actually justify but he knew it was true anyway - was the fact that their job at  _CUCINARE E MANGIARE_ was not the only job they had. Alas, though, as Burr was not a drug dealer like John himself. He may have had a second job, but he wasn't crazy like some. 

No, Burr was working as a secretary for some political law firm... or was it a part-time solicitor? Either way, John knew that when Burr wasn't working in this godforsaken pasta shop, he was at some law firm near the heart of the city. 

Then again, the only reason John knew all this was because he had stole Aaron's phone once and a text had come through from a guy named Monroe, telling him to remember all the paperwork for the next day. 

Yeah... Aaron was rather secretive. 

"Anyway, here." Aaron bent down under the counter before tossing John the uniform, which literally was just an ugly maroon apron with the words  _CUCINARE E MANGIARE_  stitched on in white. "Put it on and take the counter."

"Awe, how could I ever resist that face," John joked, putting the neck strap over his head and messily fastening the waist strap around his body. Burr merely rolled his eyes before leaving the counter to go to the back room. Whether it was to unbox things or something else, John didn't want to know. 

The southerner sighed as he assumed post behind the till and decided that now was better time than any to message Thomas the address. 

**THOMAS: Right, thanks. I'll most likely be there in the hour. The only problem is my friends aren't leaving me be.**

**JUSTIN: just let them come w/ u**

**JUSTIN: tell em you wanted to check this place out**

**JUSTIN: buy something. pay me all the money and ill slip the u know what in the bag**

**THOMAS: Right. Yeah. Fine.**

**THOMAS: But your lack of grammar, punctuation and spelling is giving me more nerves then I already have.**

**JUSTIN: your not special. u dont deserve any of those things above.**

**THOMAS: I'm so honoured.**

**THOMAS: Okay but if my friends do end up coming, please for the love of god disregard anything they say about me because I already know it'll be bad.**

**JUSTIN: depends on what they say bud**

**JUSTIN: anything 2 risqué and i might have to use it against you**

**THOMAS: I can't believe the 'e' in risqué gets an accent and I don't even get a capital letter at the start of a sentence.**

**JUSTIN: well believe it. it happened.**

**THOMAS: Ha. Ha. You're so funny. I'm cracking up this very moment as we speak.**

**JUSTIN: im hilarios, what are u talking bout**

**THOMAS: *I'm**

**THOMAS: *hilarious**

**THOMAS: *you**

**THOMAS: *about?**

**JUSTIN: i love our little chats. theyre so fun. delete these texts. gtg bye**

 


	2. Chapter 2

To say it was a busy day would've been an absolute lie. Silence ran through the store from ten to eleven, leaving John to thank himself for sneaking a flask under the counter the week previous to this one. For emergencies only, of course. 

It was hidden behind a box of clutter, and he looked around the area before ducking down to grab it and take an unhealthy swig. Another empty hour passed before he had become slightly tipsy for swallowing the entire flask's content and had forced himself to play a bad version of flappy bird. 

Despite the game being bad and fake, however, he could never bring himself to delete it due to his secret pride. The pride took over the very moment he had made his new highscore of 1352.

A look of concentration framed his face as he scrunched his nose and knitted his brow together - the pipes were now moving so he had to time this all perfectly. 

That was until the bell rang and his totally-not-drunken hands threw his phone around riskily as he attempted to catch it to turn it off: the last thing he saw on the phone was his yellow, pixilated, bird hit a pipe. 

The bell rang. Not once, twice, but three times; Thomas revealing his face as he followed two strangers to John inside. He looked anxious, but masked this with annoyance as he glared into the head of one of the two strangers. 

"This is... quaint." The one who Thomas didn't look like he was about to murder spoke unsurely and quietly. The other laughed. 

"We walk into a place full of pasta - Thomas' biggest kink and fetish - and you describe it as quaint. Really, Maddie?"

"It's not his _biggest_ kink..." Maddie trailed off, sending a glance to Thomas as he turned to look about the store once more. "I think," he quietly added on. 

Once again, the other laughed. John watched in a semi-drunk interest, their conversation was better than Fake Flappy Bird any day. Leaning against the counter table, he watched the conversation unfold. 

"Let us face the facts, James: if our dear old Tommy here had to choose between bondage and pasta, he'd choose pasta."

"Shut up, Alex." Thomas finally spoke, scowling at the shortest man. John refrained from laughing at this entire conversation. "You didn't have to come."

"No but I enjoy ruining your life." Alex said absentmindedly, as he turned from Thomas and Maddie, or James, whatever his name really was it confused John - probably because of the alcohol. 

Alex - a short man with hair tied in a ponytail a lot neater than John's and a glimmer in his eyes that just screamed trouble - browsed around the area they were in, letting his hand run across everything in the middle aisle. 

The only aisle John had a full clear view of, including seeing the door through it. 

"Looking back, though, I'm beginning to regret coming. There's nothing interesting her-" he cut off his verbal narrative, as his hand froze in place and those troublesome eyes set themselves strongly on John. Alex's interest had been peaked, just like John's had when the trio had first entered the shop to begin with. "Actually... not true."

Thomas cautiously watched as Alex made his way over to John - his eyes slightly wide as Maddie-James was muttering something at him. Thomas mouthed a very visible 'I'm sorry' towards him, but before John could even comprehend what he meant by that, Alex was standing in front of him at the counter. 

"Hey." He started right off, and before his mind could warn him about what he was doing, John said hi back. "So what's your name?"

This was when John Laurens actually laughed, a full on snort as he looked down to his chest and subtly leant in closer, so that Alex could see the visible white name tag which sat right at the top of the apron. 

Finally catching on to why John was laughing - his stupidity - Alex gave a fair nod. 

"Alright, fair enough - should've seen that coming." 

"I'm John." Laurens said anyway, because despite Alex making a small fool out of himself anyway, it wasn't fair of him to not properly introduce himself. 

"Alexander." He spoke smoothly, but his face soon turned to a sly grin as he carefully rested his hands on the edge of the countertop. "But you can call me anytime."

That was the second time John laughed; more of a girlish giggle, this time, though. 

"Oh hun bless your soul, that was terrible." He said through another laugh, and Alexander looked visibly - most probably jokingly - offended. "If that's the best you've got you're not going to get far in life at all."

"Rude." Alex told him, straight off the bat, and John merely grinned. 

"Extremely."

"So tell me, _John_ ," Alex continued, despite his initial failure - who cared if he couldn't flirt? What he was doing was cute, the fact he refused to stop trying. Pretty pathetic. But cute nonetheless. "Why the hell does a pasta shop - or a kink fuel store, in my friend's case - even exist?"

Now he was getting the hang of it - this wasn't small talk, which was good, and it wasn't those rubbish pickup lines, which was even better. 

"I have no idea, you'd have to ask my boss." He replied coolly, glancing over at Thomas who was now holding hands with Maddie-James as he slowly and carefully browsed the aisles. 

"Well, if he's half as cute as you are, I might just take you up on that offer." 

Smooth. That one was good. Not too much, not to little - maybe a few points deducted for assuming the gender of the boss, but other than that, he did well. 

"That depends. Are you into skinny, arrogant, alcoholics?" He began, and before Alex could chip in, he continued. "Because if so, I can get you her number."

Alex chuckled, leaning away slightly in minor disgust at the single thought. "I'll pass thanks. But seriously, why is someone cute like you crammed in a place like this?"

Nice save - simple flirt infused question. Still, this was not at all his strong point. John could flirt, he was very good at it actually. Alex could not. Not do it well, at least. 

"Because I get payed to stand around and do nothing." He answered simply. He wasn't just going to flirt with some stranger he met - who knows where this stranger had been?

"That actually sounds amazing - Thomas, Maddie, imagine that. Getting payed to do nothing." He had pivoted around to face the other two again, abandoning his and John's conversation, not that John really cared. Sure, Alex seemed cute but five minutes ago he hadn't even met him and now herb was attempting to flirt with the southerner. 

Talk about a fast paced relationship.  

"Sounds better than what we do now, that's for sure." Maddie-James said, glancing at John quickly before averting his gaze. "I think I'm going to go wait outside, okay Tommy?" 

"Okay, Jemmy, please take Alex while you're at it. He's going to scare the guy at the till." Thomas said, and John inwardly applauded him for his way of getting rid of both Alex and Maddie-Jemmy-James. 

"I'm not scaring him - I'm _flirting_." Alex countered. 

Yeah, barely flirting; it was more likely just luck that John was such a tolerable person. 

"Exactly, you're terrifying him."

Alex sent a scowl Thomas' way before just giving up, letting his shoulders slouch slightly. Turning to John one last time, he sent the man a wink before making his way back out the shop, the bell indicating his exit along with Maddie-Jemmy-James'.

"I am so, so sorry." Thomas apologised right away, as soon as he knew the only ears were his and John's. "I tried to get them to leave and they just wouldn't."

John laughed at his actions, pulling his body back a little as Thomas put one of the bags full of bowtie pasta on the top. 

"It's alright, man." He grinned, bending down to grab a bag, pulling the plastic packet out of his pocket too before slipping it inside calmly. "But there's one thing I need to ask."

Thomas watched him carefully as he bagged up the pasta and nodded, waiting for him to go on. 

"Why the hell do you have a pasta kink?" Seeing the Virginian turn red while John laughed was a funny sight for Maddie and Alex to watch outside - they didn't know what they were talking about but whatever it was Thomas looked like he wanted to leave right there and then. 

"You're my dealer, not my mother - don't ask me about these things." 

"Would you rather me be your dealer and question your kinks or be your mother and shame them?" John asked, a sly grin creeping it's way up his face as he slid the paper bag towards him. "That'll be forty dollars please."

Thomas let out a small laugh, considering John had made it seem like this was the most expensive pasta in the world - realistically, the pasta only costed four dollars, it was the drugs that raised the fee drastically.

"I'd rather you just be my dealer and not talk about them at all." Thomas said, holding a fifty dollar bill in his fingers, swishing it about a little. "I am the one paying you, you should comply to my wishes."

"I'm the one selling, I should be allowed to ask and judge you whatever and whenever I want." John countered. "Plus, you know where I waste away most days of the week now, too. What's fair is fair: you know where I work, I should know about your pasta kinks."

"I'll answer literally anything else, I'm not talking about pasta." Thomas groaned, shoving the money into John's hand as John slowly opened the counter to have it ding. 

"Fine - let my Christian past take over, 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth', So tell me what you work as."

Another groan fell out of his plump lips, as he threw his head back in annoyance and or embarrassment. 

"Do I have to?" 

"Do you want me to keep serving you?"

"If I tell you will you promise to not judge?" He asked, and John let out another laugh as he shook his head. 

"No, because I'm going to judge you either way." 

Throwing his head forwards again, letting out a sharp breath, Thomas looked John dead in the eye before sighing. "I'm a prostitute."

Then followed an eerie silence, so odd that Thomas thought about leaving the shop mid conversation; but just as he was about to move his foot to turn, John spoke. 

Well, it wasn't really a sentence - it wasn't a sentence at all. John had just let out a very noticeable snort.

Thomas gave him a defensive look, glaring down on the freckled face. 

"What?" He spat.

"Nothing," John replied cooly, laughing a little, "I just find it all funny, that's all." 

Thomas gave him a look, daring him to continue. He didn't know nor did he think that this was going to go any way other than bad - technically, he wasn't wrong. 

"Don't you find it the slightest bit amusing that we came from this holy and somewhat good place, only to end up like this?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow. But then his cheeky expression slowly morphed into a sadder one, as he looked down thinking. "Then again... we grow up in this nice place. We have a family, a god, this whole life ahead of us... and then we threw it all away for drugs and sex."

Instead of responding with something snarky, or equally pessimistic, Thomas shook his head as he looked at John.

"I came here to get drugs, not to reanalyse my life; I didn't pay for this shit." 

"Darlin' please, I've given you your fix: you're standing here, talking to me through your own free will." 

That sentence gave Thomas an indicator that he probably should go - ignore the rest of this conversation and just leave. Shaking his head slightly at the shorter man, he turned on his heel to walk out. 

Sending John one last look, hand on the brass handle, he let out a, "See you, Justin," before making his way out of the store to rejoin his friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to think I almost forgot to update, shame on me


End file.
